


to seek a newer world

by fluffernutter8



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Quintuple Drabble, Steggy Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: Lateness becomes a bit of a theme through the years.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	to seek a newer world

Steve was still on the couch reading by dim lamplight when Peggy came down at 12:29 a.m. She walked over, yawning, and curled into his side.

“Cutting it quite close again, isn’t she?” she asked into his T-shirt. He chuckled, put in his bookmark, and turned to kiss her head.

“I’m just waiting up. She still has another minute,” he pointed out. They silently counted it down together.

“And now she doesn’t,” Steve sighed. “She’s late. Officially. Again.”

“They both are. I peeked in on Will before I came down and he had pillows all lumped up beneath the duvet.”

Steve groaned softly. “And he’s already supposed to be grounded, too. Plus I’ll probably find that window screen torn up on the lawn in the morning.”

“What on earth made us think we were qualified to handle twins, I certainly don’t know.”

“Knowing how much personality got split between our two, I think even one might have been too much.”

She yawned again, shuts her eyes as she leaned into him. She actually had the weekend off, not even an emergency summit on the horizon, and had counted on it meaning at least one good night’s sleep. “Well, I do hope they’re enjoying themselves considering the chores they’ll be taking on in exchange for this. Washing the supper dishes for the next month, at least.”

“They already wash the dishes,” Steve reminded her, pulling her closer. He leaned his face into her hair. “And help with the yard, and make honor roll. They really are good kids, when it comes down to it.”

“I know that, and I certainly wouldn’t exchange them, especially considering some of the alternatives. I only wish that they would try to overcome the predisposition to lateness which you passed down.”

“Me? Sounds more like your genetics at work.”

“I think you’ll find that I have a reputation for punctuality,” she replied, “while you come up rather short in that department.”

A pair of headlights moved across the living room curtains, not stopping. Busy took the car tonight, but if her brother sneaked out, she would drop him off around the corner, let him jump the neighbors’ fences and slink through the back door, or try climbing up the house back into his window. (Sometimes Steve cursed what he passed on to them. Not often, though. Neither of them had ever had so much as a cold.)

"Maybe the lateness comes from both of us," Steve suggested, gesturing at their wedding picture on the side table. "We’ve certainly had our moments."

"Hmm," she said, though he suspected that was more tiredness than agreement.

In the silence, the brief creak of the upstairs window was especially pronounced, as was the curse Will gave when he fell through it. Apparently he’d made it back in decent condition.

"Pillows under the blanket, huh?" Steve laughed softly. "They really do think we’re idiots.” And he got up to have a talk about punctuality and punishment with his son.

* * *

Steve adjusted his shoulders against the headboard, licking a finger absently as he turned a page. The story was easy to get pulled back into quickly, which was good because—

“And the _looks_ I get during meetings are absolutely unbelievable.” Peggy slammed her own book back into her lap, or what was left of it. “An emergency summit about China, and every eye pointed at my middle as if they’d never seen one before.”

To be fair, her middle was fairly spectacular these days, but if they couldn’t stay focused, out of politeness if not duty… “Assholes,” he agreed. “Turn over.”

She did unquestioningly, putting her book on the nightstand and allowing him to start in pressing the tension from her back. He knew well how to do it, as he should after months, after years.

“He’s late,” she growled into the pillow after a moment. “I can’t believe he’s so late.”

“The doctor said that first kids can be like that. A little reluctant to come out. Taking a little extra time to…” Steve paused. “Cook,” he finished after an awkward moment.

She sighed. “I know, and I certainly wouldn’t want an uncooked child. It’s still bloody inconsiderate of him to be so delayed. Making my back ache like this all day, and in the absolute depth of summer, too.”

“You think it’s a boy?” He smiled, despite the aggravation in her voice. They had the bassinet all ready, and dozens of outfits so miniature that sometimes he would simply unfold them, hold them in his palm, and stare in wonder.

“No daughter of mine would be so rude, I should hope.” She moaned as he hit a particularly good spot, lifting her face to the bit of breeze coming through the open window. Perhaps the rain which had been threatening might really come at last.

“Maybe she’s just being strategic, like her mother.”

“I’ll have to teach whoever they are better than that.” She sighed. “Strategy indeed. Not even out in the world and already biting the hand that—Oh!”

He sat up abruptly, book sliding to the floor beside him.

“Was that—?”

“Yes.” She touched carefully at the mattress beneath them. “Yes, I suppose it’s time.”

The bag for the hospital was right beside the bed. It swung from Steve’s hand as he patted his pockets a bit frantically to make sure he had his keys.

“Steve.”

He looked over. Peggy had put her feet carefully over the side of the bed, waiting for him to help her with her shoes. The look on her face was unfamiliar.

“Steve,” she said again. “What if I’m not ready?”

He wasn’t certain that he was ready either - they were so _small_ , babies, and he didn’t exactly have experience - but he smiled for her.

“Then it’s a good thing this one seems to like to take it slow and give us plenty of time. We’ll be able to catch up.”

“Of course,” she said, then, determined, “Of course. We’ll catch up.”

* * *

“I’m fairly certain,” Peggy said, breathing hard, “that it will be quite humiliating when we get out of here,” but she pressed herself closer to him.

Steve suggested idly, “So maybe we just shouldn’t leave,” but even saying it, he knew it was impossible - and maybe not desirable either. “Not that I want to miss our own wedding,” he added hastily. He felt the silk of her dress under his fingers, thought about watching it spin as they had their first dance, about having a picture from today at home, hearing people comment on it - maybe even their kids one day... “I actually really want to be married to you.”

“More than you want this?” she asked cheekily, hands still beneath his suit jacket.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” he said, bending squarely toward her, “that we still get to do this after we’re married.”

“In closets?” she breathed, reaching close right back. “Closets are essential.”

“Wherever you want...”

And then his mouth was on hers, and he forgot where they were, what he’d been saying, had been _thinking_ , until he felt her engagement ring pressed to his cheek. He pulled away, took her hand, kissed the knuckles. “Come on,” he said. “I have another ring to go with this one.”

She opened the door with practiced stealth, peering into the corridor of the community hall. They had only planned to spend last night apart, but between an operation gone wrong, Dernier getting lost in the city, and Howard’s persistent offers of “one last hurrah!” for each of them, it had been nearly a week since they’d last seen each other. It was no wonder that, when they’d each happened to come collect their thoughts in the back hallway, one thing had led to another.

Luckily, no one seemed to be around. Or perhaps less than luckily: some members of their wedding party were meant to be observant, with world saving responsibilities, and they hadn’t exactly been well-hidden.

“We’re late,” Peggy whispered as they left the broom closet behind. (Steve caught a mop by the handle and propped it back against the wall before shutting the door.) “We’re very late.”

“I know. We’ll probably hear about it in every toast.”

“And for the next ten years besides.” She stopped just before the set of doors which would bring them back into the foyer. She looked into his face, so easily familiar even in the dim light. “But I wouldn’t exchange it. We are who we are, and I quite like who we are.”

He looked back, so entirely thankful that he would have the chance to do that for the rest of their lives. “I do too,” he said. “Even if it means giving Jarvis a heart attack by ruining all of his planning.”

Peggy scoffed. “Ruining it? Simply a delay, darling. Which poor Jarvis might have counted into his plans anyway.” And she pushed open the doors, ready to get on with the next part, and all they’d get after.

* * *

“They’re late,” Steve said exasperatedly, though it was fairly obvious by now: their information had the handoff taking place at midnight, and it was already half past. He shifted in his seat - Peggy’s sedan wasn’t exactly tops for leg room, and they’d already been in place an hour.

“Well.” Peggy was clearly biting back a yawn. It’d been a full week of late nights, with this meant to be the last for a while; one more takedown, the final piece, and she’d have the next few days to rest. “Possibilities?”

“Our intel was wrong,” he started off.

She nodded. “Or they changed the particulars.”

“Could be tomorrow, or in an hour, or going on somewhere else while we sit here. It could have already happened.” The thought was too depressing to consider for long, the mood in the car already deflating and the two of them having eaten their emergency car snacks while following a tip-off earlier that week without a chance to replace them. Steve added, slightly hopelessly, “Maybe they got held up somewhere. Traffic?”

“Bridge club ran long, perhaps?”

“Let’s hope not. If these guys are able to sit around the same table playing bridge, they won’t need to handle incriminating material out in the open.”

She laughed, trying to give a gentle stretch as she did.

“Come here,” he offered hesitantly. “I can—” After a moment, she leaned back so he could knead careful fingers into her neck and shoulders.

"If they did play bridge together," Peggy said after a brief quiet, "I'd wager the best bottle in Howard's cellar that Dumont cheats." She gave a deep sound from the back of her throat; he pressed carefully on the same spot again.

"Wouldn't take that bet, but I'd guess Crenshaw probably cheats worse. He's the type - would steal from his own grandmother."

"He gets on quite well with his grandmother, actually. Flowers every birthday. His mother, on the other hand…"

Steve grinned. "Have I ever told you that you're very good at what you do?"

"You have, but it's certainly something I can hear more than once."

He brushed his fingers against the back of her neck. “You’re very good at what you do.”

“Not as good as I could be, apparently. Not tonight.”

“Hey, it’s not—” Steve started, hands bracketing her shoulders, but before he could continue, headlights flashed across the windscreen in front of them. The attached car turned into the alley they’d been watching. A second set of lights appeared at the opposite end. This late at night, the slam of the car doors was audible even where Steve and Peggy sat.

“Sorry we’re late,” one of the men muttered. “Traffic was worse than expected.”

“Got caught in the same,” someone said back.

“How inconsiderate not to have considered that in advance,” Peggy said, checking her pistol before she moved to open the door.

“You can tell them off once they’re in lockup,” Steve told her. “Pretty sure they’ll be timely after this.”

* * *

Expecting the plumber, Peggy opened the door still facing toward her overflowing sink.

“Excellent.” She glanced at the visitor for just an instant. “It’s right this—”

She turned back, sink forgotten. Steve Rogers stood on her doorstep.

“I’m late,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He had flowers in his hands. He looked...older, both more and less comfortable in his skin.

“You could never be too late,” she said. The words brought something pained to his eyes. She reached for his hand. “Do you know anything about unclogging drains?”

“Not a thing.”

“I suppose we’ll learn, then. There’s time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 6 of Steggy Week 2020. Prompt: Headcanons and fave moments. Title from Alfred Lord Tennyson's _Ulysses_ : "Tis not too late to seek a newer world."
> 
> I’ve always really liked the “you’re late”/“you’re late” parallel moments in CA:TFA, and wanted to play around with the theme of lateness in little episodes. This was the first fic I wrote for this year's Steggy Week and I was having some trouble getting revved up, so I told myself to try writing just a drabble. I spent years writing drabbles - fics of exactly 100 words - for the Buffyverse in the Open on Sunday community over on livejournal, and it was really good writing training, reminding me of how being concise can force you to be more precise. Of course, I'm verbose enough that 100 words wasn't enough so I ended up with four quintuple drabbles (exactly 500 words each) and one standard drabble. I think it might have been conceptually cool, but I’m wondering if maybe I ended up sacrificing narrative unity in exchange for interesting/careful form?
> 
> (Anyway, enjoy or whatever!)


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